It’s not always about the edge-of-your-seat, screaming-and-writhing, whip-him-til-he-bleeds kinds of sessions. Those are a ton of fun, but they can be exhausting, and usually take up the entire evening. If that happened every day, I’d never get anything done. Continue reading →

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All pictures posted on this blog are either taken by me or shamelessly swiped from the interwebs and assumed to be public domain. If you own a picture posted here and wish it taken down, please contact me at dominajen@yahoo.com.

What this blog is

This is an 18+ blog about my day-to-day life as a Domina, wife, mother, and all that other crap. A chronicle of me. While this blog focuses primarily on the D/s aspect of my life and my relationships with Kazander, Steel, and Sounder, it is not exclusive to that subject, and I might talk about my kid, or my annoying mother, or my sister's pet cat, or whatever the hell I feel like talking about.

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Sounder’s Blog: soundslikejesseblog

As with most things in life, there are two sides to a recent story Domina Jen told. By now I’m sure you’ve all read the account of a certain act, which shares the name of a popular spa/salon service, but this one came without a eucalyptus candle and a bath robe. Yes, that one. Saturdays […]

For those of you who don’t follow Domina Jen’s page, well check that, why would you be here if not for her blog. Nobody picked up Joanie Loves Chachi independent of Happy Days, how would that even happen. So let me re-phrase that, as you have likely read by now, Domina Jen and I are […]

As most of you have already read, Domina Jen and I recently “experimented” with hypnosis. I say “experimented” both with actual, and air quotes, out of a natural skepticism of hypnosis. Who among us wouldn’t be skeptical? However, when Domina Jen gets something in her mind that she finds intriguing there’s little that can be […]

Steel is no longer my sub, but his blog is still wonderful, and worth reading.

Steel’s Blog: Grind_'n'_Throb

It begins over a friendly disagreement, during which you smile, roll your eyes, and say, “Go fuck yourself.”

“But, Ma’am, that’s physically impossible.”

You smirk and ask how certain I am of this. On a roll, I launch into a smug and tangential rant about the anatomical impossibility of an individual’s being capable of fucking oneself. Your response is to merely shrug, smile, and make a cryptic statement:

“Don’t be so sure…”

Later that evening, you tell me bedtime will be early, an hour early to be exact. The amused look on your face says it would be in my best interests not to argue.

Sometimes I fall into a vicious cycle where I’m mentally and emotionally frustrated and cannot manage to channel that energy into productive avenues. In the old days, this would lead to drinking or drugs, but I don’t do that anymore. Instead, I try to go about my day, generally fail to complete mundane tasks and end up feeling ‘stuck’ – this progresses into a cycle of mild depression, feelings of inertia, guilt over said inertia, and then on and on it goes until something snaps me out of it.

It feels like I’m seated in a car stuck in neutral yet compelled to rev the engine until it screams.

When did I last curl up in her lap? It’s been so long, I cannot recall. Despite numbered boxcars on the calendar and the disinterested faces of clocks, a concrete memory eludes me. Time, location, and date, they’re merely three dimensions after all.